


In Which Carlos Becomes a Citizen of Night Vale

by DoctorTrekLock



Series: AU-gust 2020 [29]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Cecil's Tattoos, M/M, Tattoo parlor AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:06:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26189188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorTrekLock/pseuds/DoctorTrekLock
Summary: Every time Carlos thought he had a handle on Night Vale, something else would happen that would throw him for a loop.Like the day he’d come home from lab, carrying his mandatory Big Rico’s take-out, to find a piece of paper about the size of a postcard pinned to his front door with what looked like an obsidian arrowhead. The paper itself was jet black and glossy to match. When he tilted it just right under an ultraviolet light, however, a message appeared in thin, spidery handwriting.On your 343rd day in Night Vale, you will receive your citizenship card. Please present yourself under the third streetlight from the left on Elysium Lane at 10:14pm precisely.You will be collected.It wasn’t the most ominous note he’d gotten since he’d moved to Night Vale, not by a long shot. No, that honor had to go to a torn piece of notebook paper that had been slid under his door one night and had simply hadIT IS COMINGwritten on it in blood. So this one was tame by comparison.
Relationships: Carlos/Cecil Palmer
Series: AU-gust 2020 [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1870924
Comments: 3
Kudos: 65





	In Which Carlos Becomes a Citizen of Night Vale

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted August 29, 2020 on [Tumblr](https://doctortreklock.tumblr.com/post/627855363434266624/au-gust-29-tattoo-parlor-au)

Every time Carlos thought he had a handle on Night Vale, something else would happen that would throw him for a loop.

Like the day he’d come home from lab, carrying his mandatory Big Rico’s take-out, to find a piece of paper about the size of a postcard pinned to his front door with what looked like an obsidian arrowhead. The paper itself was jet black and glossy to match. When he tilted it just right under an ultraviolet light, however, a message appeared in thin, spidery handwriting.

_On your 343rd day in Night Vale, you will receive your citizenship card. Please present yourself under the third streetlight from the left on Elysium Lane at 10:14pm precisely._

_You will be collected._

It wasn’t the most ominous note he’d gotten since he’d moved to Night Vale, not by a long shot. No, that honor had to go to a torn piece of notebook paper that had been slid under his door one night and had simply had _IT IS COMING_ written on it in blood. So this one was tame by comparison.

Time-keeping was a rather tricky undertaking in Night Vale, what with the City Council cancelling Wednesdays on a whim and that one time all the clocks had run backwards for twelve hours, leading to the question of whether the day had even happened. (Later consensus had agreed that the day in question had, in fact, happened, though the following day had not.)

Luckily, Carlos was a Scientist, and he’d been keeping a careful journal of each day (or equivalent period) since he’d arrived (making sure to keep his illicit pen collection out of sight of the Secret Police). So he sat at his kitchen table and slowly made his way through the pile of wheat-free pizza cubes he’d brought home and tried to count up how many days he’d been in Night Vale.

He came to the conclusion that today had been the 342nd day since he’d arrived, which meant he’d be getting his citizenship card tomorrow. Splendid. He hadn’t been looking forward to finding out what would happen if he missed his appointment.

Carlos cleaned up from dinner and went to bed.

The next day, he went into the lab and did some Science. Then he came home, carefully set three different alarms (in case time stopped working again), and took a nap.

Just before a quarter past ten that night, he was standing under a dim streetlight on Elysium Lane, trying not to fidget too badly.

“You’re on time.”

The low, smooth voice came from just over his shoulder, and Carlos jumped, looking back to see where it had come from.

There was a man there - or a man-shaped being at any rate - with a shock of silver hair that seemed to glow in the muted light.

“Come with me.” He turned and walked out of the faint spotlight.

Carlos cautiously followed. He was never sure what to expect in Night Vale, but following instructions hadn’t led him astray yet. He trailed the man down the street and around the corner. The third building over was a small storefront, and the man entered without a backward glance. Carlos looked around, but didn’t see anyone else. He opened the door and slipped inside.

The man was nowhere to be seen.

Carlos’s eyes flickered from one shadowy corner of the room to the other, but he didn’t see a tall, thin figure with silver hair anywhere. Then he blinked and looked around again, actually registering where he was standing.

It looked like a tattoo parlor. Carlos had never been in one, but he’d seen a couple reality shows before he’d come to Night Vale that had featured terrible tattoos and the parlors that tried to fix them.

In the thin light filtering in the windows from the functioning streetlights outside, Carlos could see a gleaming counter in front of him. There were chairs under the window to his left in what looked like the sort of waiting area he’d expect to see at a barber shop or the doctor’s office. Behind the counter was something that resembled a well-padded dentist’s chair. Carlos eyed it with trepidation.

Abruptly, the lights in the room came on all at once, and Carlos squinted against the sudden brightness. After a moment of rapid blinking while his eyes struggled to adjust, he could look across the room to the doorway where the man had reappeared.

He stood there, watching Carlos with a smile dancing around his mouth. His hair still looked silver, but in the light Carlos could see that it was more of a silver-blond than a silver-grey, lending the man a younger appearance that was somewhere around Carlos’s own age. His white dress shirt was rolled up to his elbows and he was wearing a deep purple tie and a charcoal grey vest that seemed tailored to him.

He was also watching Carlos with dark eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses.

Carlos cleared his throat, distressingly aware of the flush that threatened to surface whenever he looked at the man too closely. “Good evening.”

“Welcome, Carlos the Scientist.” His voice was still low and smooth, but it was also warm and almost...congenial?

“Um. Can you tell me why I’m here? I believe the note said something about my citizenship card?” He struggled to keep from shifting his weight.

“Yes.” The man’s face twisted into a brilliant smile. “If you’ll just come over here please.” He led Carlos around the counter to the dentist’s chair.

Carlos eyed it nervously. He’d never had a high pain tolerance, which had put a quick kibosh on any thoughts he’d had in college of getting a tattoo. So he wasn’t looking forward to it now.

Although he was just assuming the evening was going to end in a tattoo. Maybe it really _was_ a dentist’s chair and this painfully attractive man was going to give him a root canal.

He sat down in it gingerly. This was Night Vale, and he had no illusions about the sort of oddities he could expect from anything in the town that appeared innocuous. When nothing bit him or growled or oozed, he relaxed into the padding.

The man sat down on a stool next to him and looked into Carlos’s eyes from an intimate eighteen inches away. His eyes were purple, Carlos noted. They matched his tie. And his glasses.

“Give me your hand,” the man said.

Carlos reached out but stopped himself just before putting his hand in the man’s waiting grasp. “Will I get it back?” he asked warily. It never hurt to ask.

“It’s Tuesday,” the man agreed. Which wasn’t reassuring, but was enough for now. Carlos nodded and settled his hand into the man’s cradled palms.

He took hold of Carlos’s fingers with one hand and used the other to begin tracing curving shapes up Carlos’s wrist and forearm with his finger.

Carlos was about to ask what he was doing, but stopped. There was a curve of ink that appeared under the man’s rolled sleeve as he moved. Carlos watched, transfixed, hoping to see more. He had never found tattoos attractive on their own before, but he was already beginning to reevaluate their merit.

Slowly, more of the line became visible. A few seconds later, however, Carlos realized that it wasn’t because the sleeve had shifted, but because the tattoo was _moving_. He gasped.

“Hmm?” The man looked up from Carlos’s arm to see his expression. “Ah.” He kept hold of Carlos’s hand, but used his free hand to poke at the skin just under the edge of his cuff. “Are you going to come out now and say hello?”

If he were anywhere else in the world, Carlos would say he was going mad. He was in Night Vale, however, so it seemed perfectly reasonable to see a curve of ink cautiously, almost _shyly_ , poke itself out from under the curve of the man’s shirt sleeve and unfurl on the blank skin of his forearm.

“Hi, there,” Carlos said softly. He wasn’t sure why, but he desperately wanted the man’s tattoos to like him.

At his words, the ink froze, then started uncoiling at a more rapid clip. Inked tentacles and stylized geometry spread across the skin until the man had lines of dark ink covering his forearm from elbow to wrist.

“It’s beautiful,” Carlos said. He looked up in wonder to find the man watching him, warmth in his eyes.

“I’m glad you think so.” His voice was impossibly deep. “Because you’ll have your own set very soon.”

Carlos made the connection. “My citizenship card?”

He hummed. “Exactly. Much more difficult to lose than a flimsy piece of plastic.”

He appeared satisfied with whatever invisible sketches he’d been making on Carlos’s arm and slid away on his stool, releasing Carlos’s fingers. Carlos watched the gently waving tentacles move out of his range of vision.

He could hear the clatter of metal, and only the man’s absentminded humming kept him grounded and in the chair.

Then he slid back into view, tattoo gun in hand.

“Are you ready, Carlos the Scientist?” the man asked solemnly.

“Yes,” Carlos said firmly. Then, “What’s your name, by the way? I don’t think I ever caught it.”

He looked surprised by the question. “Cecil. Cecil Palmer.” He smiled. “Welcome to Night Vale.”


End file.
